


Are We Pretending

by Shippershape



Series: Bellarke Brought to You by Tumblr [10]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:57:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy just came for the coffee. But when a pretty blonde asks for his help to avoid an angry ex-boyfriend, he agrees to pretend to be her boyfriend. Fistfights, pet names and stitches ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are We Pretending

"Okay, I’m going to need you to act like you’re my boyfriend." Bellamy looked up to see a pretty blonde standing next to him. He’d been coming to this cafe for months, mostly for the quiet, and this was the last thing he’d expected. He blinked.

"What?" 

"Look. This insane guy I went on a blind date with is standing right behind me, and he really, really doesn’t take no for an answer. Please." The girl looked down at him, pleading. Bellamy glanced behind her and spotted a muscular redhead waiting for his drink. He frowned.

"Carrot top? That’s who you’re hiding from?" He asked the stranger. She made a face.

"Yeah. Hot, but crazy. Come on, please. Help me out." Bellamy looked at her for a moment, studying her. Then he sighed.

"Alright." He gestured toward the empty chair at his table. She sank into it with a grateful smile.

"Thanks. I’m Clarke." He let his eyes wander, taking in her face. She was gorgeous, big blue eyes and pink lips. His eyes drifted south, and he couldn’t help noticing her very impressive rack. He realized she was waiting for him to respond.

”Bellamy. Can’t say I’ve ever started a relationship this way before.” He joked, and she blushed. He hadn’t seen a woman blush in years. Bellamy told himself he didn’t find it charming, but it was a weak lie.

"I really appreciate your help. I know this is weird." She sighed. "But Ian’s a little off and I just don’t have the energy to try and chase him off today." As Bellamy inspected her more closely, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

"Tired?" He asked. She nodded.

"I’m coming off a 60 hour week, so yeah. You could say that." He stared at her.

"60 hours? What the hell do you do?" He wondered aloud. She didn’t look offended.

"I’m a surgeon. One of the only general surgeons around here, actually. So I’m pretty much on call 24/7." She sat back in her chair, sipping the coffee in her hand. Bellamy gaped at her, his eyes sweeping her face once more, just to check that he hadn’t accidentally pegged her as ten years younger than she was. He hadn’t.

"How old are you?" He asked, intrigued.

"Twenty-three." Bellamy frowned. Even if she’d started university straight out of high school, there was no way she could have graduated and finished grad school. Clarke noticed him staring and sighed. "I graduated early, started pre-med when I was sixteen. I finished my internship last year, now I’m in my residency." He nodded.

"I’m surprised you even have time to date." He muttered. Clarke laughed.

"I don’t really. A friend of mine is always bugging me about how much I work, so I figured if I agreed to a blind date she would get off my back."

"Did it work?"

"Well, sort of. But now I don’t know how to get the blind date off my back." She slumped back in her chair, peeking behind her. The redhead in question had settled at a table a few feet away from her, apparently unaware that Clarke was right next to him.

"Hmm." Bellamy frowned. This girl didn’t seem like she’d have any problems asserting herself, and he couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t just told the creep to back off. "Have you tried just telling him to back off?" She nodded.

"Yeah. Like I said, he’s not so good with ‘no’." He noticed the nervous way she tapped her fingers against the table when she glanced behind her, and something clicked.

"He hit you?"

Clarke’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. The way her mouth hung open a little told him enough. The flash of anger that coiled in his stomach surprised him in it’s intensity. He had always despised that women got knocked around, but this one was a stranger. He wondered why he cared so much.

"No.." She said slowly. He raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. "He just pushed me around a bit. He’s a cop, seems to be pretty well liked so…"

"So you didn’t press charges." Bellamy finished for her. She bit her lip. 

"I think… I don’t think anyone would have believed me. I figured I would just keep my distance, so I changed my number and I hadn’t run into him again until today." She set her now empty coffee cup down. 

Fighting the urge to cross the few feet between them and hit this guy over the head with a chair, Bellamy grabbed her cup. His was empty too, so he stood, making his way over to the trash can. He was barely gone for a minute, but when he turned around he caught sight of Clarke, pale and uncomfortable in her chair, the redhead towering over her. 

"Shit."

He marched back to their table, shouldering past the intruder. Pulling his chair around so he was right next to her, he snaked an arm around her waist.

"Hey, babe, who’s your friend?" He asked, smiling widely up at blind date guy. Clarke relaxed into his grip.

"This is Ian. Ian, this is Bellamy." Ian ignored him, staring intensely at Clarke.

"You never returned my calls." He accused. Clarke shrugged.

"I changed my number." She replied, honestly. The frightened girl Bellamy had seen a few moments ago was gone. Faced with conflict, it was clear Clarke wasn’t the type to back down. He liked that more than he should.

"Oh." Ian glanced between the two of them, cocking his head. "How about you give me the new one, then I can take you out for that second date we never got around to?"

Bellamy coughed, incredulous. 

"You realize we’re here together, right?" He asked. Once again, Ian ignored him. Clarke sighed.

"No, Ian, you can’t have my new number. And I’m not interested in seeing you again. As you can see, I’m with someone now." To prove her point, Bellamy tugged her in a little closer. She smelled good, he realized, actually she smelled amazing. He fought the urge to bury his face in her hair. Ian cracked his knuckles.

"Really? That was a fast." He sneered. "So what, you’re just like a whore? New guy every week? Didn’t your mother ever teach you to let the sweat dry before you drag a new guy between the sheets?" Bellamy stood so quickly the chair toppled over behind him. He hesitated when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked down to see Clarke shaking her head.

"Don’t." She murmured quietly. She turned to Ian, her voice to steel. "Are you done? I don’t want to see you again, I don’t want to talk to you again. Walk away." It was clear in her voice that it wasn’t a suggestion. Ian didn’t move. Bellamy took a step forward. 

"You heard her. Get out of here." His voice wasn’t as calm as Clarke’s. He couldn’t remember being this angry in months. Ian smirked.

"Go ahead, hit me. I’m a cop, I’ll have you in cuffs before you’re finished swinging." He hissed. Clarke tightened her grip on Bellamy’s arm, a warning. 

"Ian-" She didn’t get time to finish her sentence, because Ian clamped a hand firmly around her wrist. Almost simultaneously, Bellamy punched him, his fist connecting with Ian’s face with a satisfying crunch. Clarke leapt out of the way as the two men transformed into a blur of fists and colour. "Bellamy, stop." She reached out cautiously to grab the back of his shirt, but it was ripped from her hand as Ian slammed Bellamy against the wall, his hands around Bellamy’s throat.

"Oh my god." A barista exclaimed, coming up behind Clarke. "He’s going to kill him." Clarke agreed, watching Bellamy’s face slowly turn purple. He was fast, but Ian was huge, and pinned against the wall like that he had no chance. Without thinking, Clarke grabbed the closest thing to her, a heavy ornamental bowl, and brought it down on Ian’s head. It shattered, one jagged piece slicing into her wrist as Ian slumped to the ground.

For a moment, the entire cafe was silent. Clearly everyone had stopped to watch the fight, and it seemed like they were collectively holding their breath. Clarke stepped forward, over Ian, her hands finding Bellamy’s face. It was starting to return to a normal colour, and he coughed a few times before straightening up. 

"Are you okay?" She asked, a little breathless. He nodded, and Clarke was suddenly aware of her heart pounding in her chest. Bellamy looked at her, eyes wide.

"Wow." He said, voice hoarse. Clarke ran her hands through his hair absently, wondering vaguely if he had a crushed windpipe. “What was that?” 

"A bowl." She told him, unsmiling. She waited until he got his breath back before punching him, hard, in the arm.

"Shit!" He glared at her. "What the hell was that for?" She glared back.

"I told you not to hit him. He could have killed you. Look at the mess you made." She gestured to the broken glass littering the floor.

"I think that was you, actually." He said, glancing down at Ian. "And can we move if you’re going to lecture me? I don’t feel like waiting for him to wake up and go for round two." Clarke sighed. After apologizing to the barista, and handing her a wad of cash to cover the damage, they left. They made it a block before Bellamy asked where they were going. 

"To my place. It’s just up here." Clarke said, dragging him along behind her. He raised his eyebrows, but bit back any sarcastic remarks. The venom of Ian’s accusations was still fresh in his mind.

She lead him into a nice building, one he would never have been able to afford when he was twenty-three, and they stopped outside 4B.

"This is a nice building." He said. She glanced up as she slid the key into the lock.

"Mhmm." Clearly he was not off the hook yet. 

A few minutes later he was sitting on the couch, wincing as Clarke cleaned out the cut above his eyebrow. It was quiet, except for their breathing, but Bellamy found the silence surprisingly comfortable. 

"I hope you have a good lawyer." Clarke finally said from her perch on the coffee table. Bellamy chuckled.

"I know a guy. He’s alright."

She drew back, frowning.

"You’re going to need better than alright. Ian’s one of the most well respected officers in his division. If he decides to press charges…"

"He won’t." Bellamy assured her. She didn’t look convinced. "And even if he does, my guy can handle it." Clarke sighed and began to stitch him up. 

"So who’s your guy?"

"Me." 

She stopped again.

"You’re a lawyer?"

"Well, it depends on who you ask. I did go to law school, pass the bar, and start my own firm though." For the first time since he’d met her, Clarke looked impressed. 

"Hmm. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a lawyer." She mused, snipping the string and sitting back. His eyes lingered on her hands. He didn’t think his cuts were very deep, but her arm was covered in blood. He pulled it closer to examine, finding a long gash running the length of her forearm. He growled.

"What were you doing fixing me up when your arm is sliced open?" He demanded angrily. She looked surprised, glancing down at the cut like she’d forgotten. 

"I’m a doctor." She sighed. "Force of habit." She didn’t protest when he began cleaning the pieces of glass from her arm with the tweezers she’d used on him. He kept waiting for her to wince, or swear, but she didn’t even blink when he doused the whole arm with antiseptic.

"Jesus." He muttered. "What, do you not have nerves or something?"

"I’ve had a lot of accidents." She admitted. "My pain tolerance is pretty high." He just shook his head, picking a new needle from the packets littering the table. Clarke’s hand shot out.

"No offense, but even I don’t let just anyone stick a needle in my arm." Bellamy smiled at the fact that she was finally acting a little more human. 

"Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing." 

She relaxed, but only a little, as he pushed the needle into her skin. His mother had been a seamstress, and his stitches were neat and even, the finished product indistinguishable from the ones Clarke had given him. She inspected them suspiciously before letting him bandage her arm.

"Thanks." She gave him a small smile. "For the arm, not for the fighting. I don’t need you defending my honour." He laughed.

"You think you need to tell me that? I just watched you smash a bowl on somebody’s head. Trust me, I know you can take care of yourself."

He stood, grabbing his jacket from where he’d draped it over the couch.

"Thanks for this." Bellamy gestured to his cuts. "And anytime you wanna play doctor again, just give me a call." He flashed her a grin, turned to leave.

"Actually," Clarke followed him to the door, handing him a tube of ointment. "Those aren’t dissolving stitches. I’ll have to take them out in a week." He hovered in the doorway.

"Okay then." He said. "So how about I meet you back here next Friday, you can take out my stitches and then I can take you out for dinner." He flashed her his most charming smile. Her answering one put every smile he’d seen before to shame. 

"Okay." She said. "If you promise not to get into a fight." He crossed his heart. "Seven?" 

"Seven." He agreed. As he walked out of the building, Bellamy realized that had been the strangest, most painful date he’d ever been on. It was also the best. He examined the bruises on his arms. He was sore from the waist up, and he suspected he had handprints on his neck. Then he thought back that smile Clarke had given him.

It was worth it.


End file.
